


The End of 0 Mile

by taeminki



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Gen, poor mark :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 21:59:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12397083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taeminki/pseuds/taeminki
Summary: Mark didn't lose control of his body until the end of 0 Mile.





	The End of 0 Mile

Mark didn't lose control of his body until the end of 0 Mile.

It wasn't live, so it could be cut out. It wasn't a split second after the last beat sounded, so it was even easier on the production team. The last thing Mark wanted to be was a burden, which is why he started to feel bad as soon as he lost control of his body, for Youngho had to hold his weight as Mark's body fell back, exhaustion catching everything but his mind.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Mark felt the words-- Youngho's whisper breathing over his ear. Mark's vision wasn't up to par, his eyes slipping shut without his consent. Everything his body was doing was without his consent-- like the main thing, _not working_. He heard a lot of commotion, but that was starting to fade out, too, as his mind starting to fall asleep. _No_ , Mark told himself, _at least get up and pass out backstage_.

Mark pried his eyes open, saw Youngho's worried expression above him. He saw a wrist near his eyes and registered that Taeyong's hand was on his cheek. Taeyong pet him when he noticed his eyes were open, "Mark? Are you okay?" and Mark couldn't speak. His mouth was open, but he couldn't talk. He wanted to hold out his arms, to ask for help up, but nothing was working. He looked at Taeyong, at Youngho. He saw Donghyuck standing behind Taeyong, his expression concerned. He saw Yuta slip into view-- but all of a sudden he couldn't hear and his eyes were slipping shut again, and hands were on his chest and for however long-- seconds? minutes? nothing. When he opened his eyes again, he was still onstage, and it seemed like nothing had changed.

"I--" Mark started to say, but his voice failed him a second later. Taeyong pet his cheek again, "Mark?" and Mark nodded. He blinked slowly, but he managed to move his arms, to hold them up, wait for someone to latch onto him. That someone was Youngho, who moved to duck his head into Mark's arms right away-- and Mark didn't mean for Youngho to spend his strength gathering him up, but that's how it turned out.

"Youngho, Youngho--" Mark heard someone-- definitely not one of his members-- say, likely someone telling him not to do that, if the urgency in their voice was anything to go by, but Youngho didn't listen. Mark was carried from hot stage lights to a colder backstage, and he was settled easily onto a chair, with Youngho's hands firm on his shoulders.

"Youngho, moving him could damage him--" someone started to scold. Youngho's hands didn't move from his shoulders while he was being scolded-- not when Mark tipped forward, and not when Mark promised he was awake. Youngho wasn't looking at him, but he was holding him.

"Mark," Dongyoung crouched in front of Mark, taking on Taeyong's role as Taeyong was standing to the side of Youngho, there for him while he was being scolded, defending him but being respectful. At least, Mark assumed all of that was happening. He had been completely focused on Youngho's hands on his shoulders until Dongyoung spoke to him, at which point his extremely slim focus turned to Dongyoung.

"Drink it," Dongyoung said, handing him an uncapped water bottle. Mark managed to take a small sip, but when he tilted it forward to hang it back to Dongyoung, it slipped from his palms. It splashed high enough to get in Mark's hair, and then proceeded to spill mostly out onto the ground. Mark leaned forward, "I'm sorry-- I'm sorry--" but the sudden movement made him dizzy, and he broke out of Youngho's grip only to fall forward onto Dongyoung, knock them both over, and pass out for another-- few seconds? few minutes? Mark only knew that, when he opened his eyes again, he was on the ground-- but his head was tucked over Dongyoung's lap and Dongyoung was rubbing his hair, opposite hand over his own shoulder, rubbing the area Mark had probably bruised.

"We should get him home--"

" _No_ , we should get him to the _hospital_."

"Hyung--" Mark said, reaching for Dongyoung's face. Dongyoung wasn't speaking, and Mark couldn't register who was, so he couldn't serve any direct words to make whoever it was that was arguing feel better, or contribute to breaking the fight up. Dongyoung's gaze shifted from a distance-- perhaps where the two men (were they both his members?) were arguing, and looked to Mark instead. He smiled gently, his hand more attentive, now, to pet Mark's hair.

"Are you okay?" Dongyoung asked. Mark nodded. Dongyoung nodded back; then, "Why don't you rest a little, Mark? I know you're trying to keep yourself awake but you really should let yourself doze off. You're exhausted."

Mark was too exhausted to protest the idea. He slowly let his eyes slip shut again; and, finally, it was more than a few seconds, or a few minutes that he slept. When he woke next, it was to the voice of an unfamiliar person, with an unfamiliar hand on his shoulder. Mark blinked, seeing white, and a little bit of blue, and then a man standing above him. He noticed his back was against a soft surface, and there was a light shining in his left eye, quickly taken away.

"Mark Lee?" he asked. Mark found out soon enough that he was a doctor, and he was simply being checked on-- and that he was fine, and he could go home, but he should rest, and then eat, and spend only a few hours awake before he went back to sleep-- and got a good amount of rest (six hours, at the least-- eight or nine recommended). Mark said okay, sure, but he climbed into the car on the way home thinking no way, I have schedules tomorrow.

"Mark-hyung," Donghyuck said quietly as Mark entered the dorm-- Taeyong next to him. He was the only one who had stayed with Mark at the hospital-- of course, only because he demanded the rest of them go home. Donghyuck hugged Mark quickly, his shoulders hunching up into Mark's body, his arms fitting calmly at his waist. His head rest against Mark's chest; his little breaths were shaky for a moment, then still, and then he breathed again and said, "I was worried."

"I'm okay." Mark promised quietly, his own arms coming up to hug Donghyuck's shoulders. Someone may have cooed at them if they weren't all worried about Mark, too-- like Yuta, who only came to pet the back of Mark's head instead of teasing the two youngest-- or Youngho, who stole a quick hug when Donghyuck had finally moved away instead of calling them both cute. Mark wasn't smothered with affection upon his return-- only three touches of comfort from Donghyuck, and Yuta, and Youngho; and he got a few concerned questions, but most of the love he recieved that night was through action-- like Dongyoung making his bed for him to sleep in (even before he came back home) and Yoonoh giving him something warm to drink (hot chocolate! Mark was in Heaven). Mark thanked them all for taking care of him, and they each told him not to worry about it in their own way-- words for Youngho, a small stroke on the back of his head for Taeyong, a stronger hold on his arm for Donghyuck, a smile for Dongyoung.

All of a sudden, Mark was fifteen, and he was crying in the bathroom because he didn't think he could do this-- didn't think he could stay in South Korea and struggle just because he wanted to be a star, and Taeil was knocking on the bathroom door and asking him if he was okay, if he needed to talk, and Youngho was speaking in English to him. Donghyuck had yet to exist in the building, but he came along soon, soon after, and he was a brand new form of comfort for Mark; he was a ray of sunshine, cheesy as it was for Mark to think, and he was a splash of yellow color that Mark needed on his greying hope. All of a sudden, Mark recalled his position in NCT -- U, 127, and DREAM, and remembered how grateful he always felt, thinking about it, and how much he felt like he belonged.


End file.
